Beautiful Lines
by Muggle Jane
Summary: Luna wants Dean to draw her story. Written for Amber for the GGE2014


**A/N: Disclaimer of not owning the characters. Written for the wonderful Amber for the GGE2014**

"I want you to draw them."

The house was quieter, suddenly, still. Everyone was gone except Bill and Fleur, who were so happy to have their bedroom back and so wrapped up in each other that they would scarcely notice if the house burned down around them.

He frowned at her, not saying anything, the pencil held gracefully in his long fingers stilling as he contemplated her.

She'd seen him looking. They'd been swimming that afternoon. The water was cold, of course, but it was cleansing. And then, as they lay in the grassy sand letting the spring sun dry the salt to their skin, he'd looked at the fine cross-cross of scars across her shoulders and arms. There was no horror in his eyes when he looked; rather he saw them as they could be.

Time stretched between them. "Why?" he asked finally. He knew what she was talking about, or he would have asked _what_ instead of _why_.

"You'll make them beautiful." She slipped out of the borrowed jumper and skirt and sat down on the end of the bed, her back to him and her hands resting easily out to her sides. She could feel him looking at her, feel his eyes tracing the path of the scars.

He didn't say anything else. She heard him ready a new piece of paper, she heard the sound of his pencil against the paper. Long lines, smooth lines, jagged lines, broken lines. She heard him draw the story of her imprisonment, she could almost feel the pencil tracing the silvery lines against her pale skin.

At last, the pencil stopped, and she pulled Fleur's clothes back on. She shifted to sit beside him, and took the piece of paper as he wordlessly handed it to her.

There they were. He hadn't drawn the outline of her body, just the lines that decorated it. She could see her shape implied in the curves and breaks. Her shoulder there, her hip there, and her wrist along there. She smiled as she looked at them, tracing her fingers over the corner where he'd signed and dated his work.

"Thank you," she told him, staring at the drawing almost in awe. She tried to hand it back to him, but he shook his head.

"You should keep it," he said. "It's your story."

"Thank you." She was grateful that he understood. She crossed her legs on the bed in front of her. "We'll be leaving here soon, too."

"Maybe."

"I think so. The air has that waiting feeling, like when you pull out a piece of chewing gum and it's just about to break." She rested her elbows on her knees and propped up her chin on her joined hands, the paper resting beside her on the bed. It was so quiet in the house. Dean was quiet. She hadn't known him very well before their circumstances had thrown them together, but his face looked like it was used to smiling more than it did now. "I'll miss you, I think."

He turned to face her, the movement of his head caught in the corner of her eye. He looked at her for a long moment. "Why would you miss me?"

"We've spent rather a lot of time together very recently, Dean Thomas. It will be strange not to."

"Why wouldn't we keep spending time together?" His tone indicated that it was a very silly question. "You should come and stay with us when we get through here, until they sort out your dad. It's not... quiet. Not like it is here."

She looked up to see a very sincere look on his face, and she smiled. "That would be nice." Hermione had told her about the house being destroyed, and Bill and said that her dad was in Azkaban for what he'd written about Harry. Dean was quite likely right, it would probably take some time after Harry ended the war for her dad to be released.

Dean looked at her for a moment, and then his hand came up to slide around her back until his arm was around her shoulders. She let her feet fall to the floor and shifted to lean against his shoulder. "Three sisters, two brothers. It's busy. I'm the oldest, of course."

"What's it like living in a large family? It's been just Daddy and me for the last seven years now."

He moved his other hand over hers, tracing her fingers like he'd traced out the lines of her scars. "It's a bit much sometimes. They all think I'm cool because I'm a wizard, right, and the oldest besides. Ginny came to visit once that summer when we were together and she thought it was funny, just because she's used to being the youngest." He had a smile then, thinking of his family. "But they're great. There's always someone to talk to or argue about football with."

"Will they think I'm very odd? I haven't met too many Muggles, really, but a lot of wizards and witches think I'm very odd, and we all live in the same world."

"When did you start caring about what people thought about you?" He was worried now, concern etched in his face.

"I don't, not really, but they're your family." She tried to tell him all the things she couldn't say when she took his hand, stilling the movements of his fingers against hers. She didn't meet a lot of her friend's families. Or any of them, really, except Bill and Fleur, and when she'd been invited to their wedding.

"If you show my sisters how to make earrings like yours, I'm sure you'll be their new best friend." She heard the smile in his voice, and she smiled too.

"I could do that." She paused, resting against him. "I should go to bed, it's late. It's too quiet, though, I don't want to be alone."

His hand tightened on hers, he didn't want her to go, either. "Don't, then. Let's go outside and listen to the waves."

"All right." She went up to put her picture safely in her room, and picked up her wand. She met him on the landing and took his hand, letting the door close quietly behind them as they went outside.

It was cold outside, the ground was cold. He didn't have a wand, so she used hers to make a little nest of blankets for them. They lay together, snuggled up against the cold. Neither spoke and neither slept.

It was almost morning when she felt the magic pulling on her. The coin, the galleon Hermione had given her. She took it out and held it up in the gray pre-dawn light. "It's time."

He took the coin, turning it over and over in his long fingers. "Stay near me?"

She nodded. She made to get up, but his hand closed around her wrist, pulling her gently back across his chest. "In case we don't make it back..." His lips found hers, saying all the things he couldn't say.


End file.
